We finally caught him. He bit us and squirmed around like a eel. Then he got all stiff and it was like carrying a two-by-four, Luke said.
We took him into the kitchen and tried to give him something to eat. He wouldn’t take a bite. He gulped down some milk like he felt guilty about it. Then, in a second, his face twists and he draws back his lips and the milk comes out.
He kept trying to run away from us. Never a single word out of him. He just squeaks and mutters like a monkey talking to itself.
We finally carried him upstairs to put him to bed. He froze soon as we touched him and I thought his eyes would fall out he opened them so wide. His jaw fell slack and he stared at us like we was boogie men or trying to slice open his throat like his ma’s.
He wouldn’t go in his room. He screamed and twisted in our hands like a fish. He braced his feet against the wall and tugged and pulled and scratched. We had to slap his face and then his eyes got big and he got like a board again and we carried him in his room.
When I took off his clothes I got a shock like I haven’t had in years, George. That boy is all scars and bruises on his back and chest like someone has strung him up and tortured him with pliers or hot iron or God knows what all. I got a downright chill seeing that. I know they said the widow wasn’t the same in her head after her husband died but I can’t believe she done this. It is the work of a crazy person.
Jim was sleepy but he wouldn’t shut his eyes. He kept looking around the ceiling and the window and his lips kept moving like he was trying to talk. He was moaning kind of low and shaky when Luke and I went out in the hall.
No sooner did we leave him than he’s screaming at the top of his voice and thrashing in his bed like someone was strangling him. We rushed in and I held the lantern high but we couldn’t see anything. I thought the boy was sick with fear and seeing things.
Then, as if it was meant to happen, the lantern ran out of oil and all of a sudden we saw white faces staring at us from the walls and ceiling and the window.
It was a shaky minute there, George, with the kid screaming out his lungs and twisting on his bed but never getting up. And Luke trying to find the door and me feeling for a match but trying to look at those horrible faces at the same time.
Finally I found a match and I got it lit and we couldn’t see the faces any more, just part of one on the window.
I sent Luke down to the car for some oil and when he come back we lit the lantern again and looked at the window and saw that the face was painted on it so’s to light up in the dark. Same thing for the faces on the walls and the ceiling. It was enough to scare a man out of half his wits to think of anybody doing that inside a little boy’s room.
We took him to another room and put him down to bed. When we left him he was squirming in his sleep and muttering words we couldn’t understand. I left Luke in the hall outside the room to watch. I went and looked around the house some more.
In the Widow’s room I found a whole shelf of psychology books. They was all marked in different places. I looked in one place and it told about a thing how they can make rats go crazy by making them think there is food in a place when there isn’t. And another one about how they can make a dog lose its appetite and starve to death by hitting big pieces of pipe together at the same time when the dog is trying to eat.
I guess you know what I think. But it is so terrible I can hardly believe it. I mean that Jim might have got so crazy that he cut her. He is so small I don’t see how he could.
You are her only living kin, George, and I think you should do something about the boy. We don’t want to put him in a orphan home. He is in no shape for it. That is why I am telling you all about him so you can judge.
There was another thing. I played a record on a phonograph in the boy’s room. It sounded like wild animals all making terrible noises and even louder than them was a terrible high laughing.
That is about all, George. We will let you know if the sheriff finds the one who killed your sister because no one really believes that Jim could have done it. I wish you would take the boy and try to fix him up.
Until I hear,
Dear Sam:
I got your letter and am more upset than I can say.
I knew for a long time that my sister was mentally unbalanced after her husband’s death but I had no idea in the world she was so far gone.
You see, when she was a girl she fell in love with Phil. There was never anyone else in her life. The sun rose and descended on her love for him. She was so jealous that, once, because he had taken another girl to a party, she crashed her hands through a window and nearly bled to death.
Finally, Phil married her. There was never a happier couple, it seemed. She did anything and everything for him. He was her whole life.
When Jim was born I went to see her at the hospital. She told me she wished it had been born dead because she knew that the boy meant so much to Phil and she hated to have Phil want anything but her.
She never was good to Jim. She always resented him. And, that day, three years ago, when Phil drowned saving Jim’s life, she went out of her mind. I was with her when she heard about it. She ran into the kitchen and got a carving knife and took it running through the streets, trying to find Jim so she could kill him. She finally fainted in the road and we took her home.
She wouldn’t even look at Jim for a month. Then she packed up and took him to that house in the woods. Since then I never saw her.
You saw yourself, the boy is terrified of everyone and everything. Except one person. My sister planned that. Step by step she planned it — God help me for never realizing it before. In a whole, monstrous world of horrors she built around that boy she left him trust and need for only one person — her. She was Jim’s only shield against those horrors. She knew that, when she died, Jim would go completely mad because there wouldn’t be anyone in the world he could turn to for comfort.
I think you see now why I say there isn’t any murderer.
Just bury her quick and send the boy to me. I’m not coming to the funeral.